


New From Mattel!

by Blue Snow (kylocatastrophe)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Domestic, Hank is a Good Dad, Life size doll, M/M, Other, Single Dad Hank, a fuckload of Quick and Easy Dad Hacks, am i right in thinking the & means friendship right, cole is alive, mattel, more tags to come, relationships to come, this shit is kinda sorta unplanned but I gotta write it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 18:21:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16023407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kylocatastrophe/pseuds/Blue%20Snow
Summary: What could possibly go wrong when you ask your son what he wants for his ninth birthday and give him an entire year to think about it?





	New From Mattel!

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is inspired by [this prompt](https://adiblin.tumblr.com/post/178185116735/honkforhankcon-this-fandom-is-severely-lacking), but it is NOT A FILL. I have NOT watched the film in question.
> 
> I'm not sure how well I write children.  
> I'm not editing this really, or putting it through a beta.  
> I accept constructive criticism.

The Andersons weren’t rich or affluent by any means, but Hank was a diligent, hard working man. The inheritance was a contributing factor, but with his selfish, younger days far behind him, Hank did not spend it with abandon. No, he bought Cole some new clothes, a much needed upgrade for his phone, planned and executed an amazing father-son road trip vacation across Canada over the summer between Cole’s second and third grade years, and asked him to think of one very important gift for his ninth birthday, and gave him more than a year to think about it.

Cole was a smart kid, and a stubborn one. He refused to tell his father anything about what he planned to ask for when he turned nine. Third grade came and went, and it was with fourth right around the corner while the summer heat simmered through the house that Hank finally got a clue.

A digital magazine had been left on the kitchen table next to Cole’s placemat. It was an ad for Mattel’s new line of interactive, lifelike dolls and action figures. There were sports oriented dolls, not quite replicas of actual players, but there were outfits for every imaginable team. It was so strange to see a watered down abstraction of what a firefighter used to look like in 2018 spread out across the canvas of a toy in the year 2038.

Cole had tapped on the police detective, so that was the doll at the forefront. Behind it, he could see a few other categorical action figures, and the many different models showcasing not on ethnicities, genders, but also ages.

Hank put the digital mag down where Cole had left it, and meandered over to the coffee machine. His home was a mixture of old and new. The coffee machine was one of the oldies. Hank lived by the motto ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.’ His car was another relic, but admitting that he liked the 70’s aesthetic would be the last thing off his tongue. With the coffee machine spluttering along behind him, he looked over at the table, arms crossed above his belly.

He could just barely make out the 

**NEW! RK800 POLICE DETECTIVE**

Across the top of the ad. The digital mag faded back to the cover, but he could remember the key advertising points. For the target audience, it was a full time imaginary playmate, complete with hundreds of hours of thrilling mysteries to solve together. For the parents though, it could help with household duties, babysit, and could be customized and adapt to their kid’s needs.

Hank was fairly certain this was really just a way to market miniature androids to kids. They were even given a model schema similar to the CyberLife ones. But who wouldn’t want a walking, talking, fully interactive criminal justice friend? Cole definitely idolized him, Hank knew that. He was so proud that his father was a Lieutenant at the DPD’s central precinct. 

The sound of the toilet down the hall pulled him from his thoughts. Cole barreled into the kitchen and hopped into his chair with enough momentum to skid against the table leg. 

“Woah there, kiddo, better wash your hands.”

“But I did!” Cole fixed Hank with an indignant stare.

“Not unless you did it in half a second,” Hank said, rummaging through the freezer. “C’mon, or your waffles’r gonna burn.” He shook the box of Eggo toaster waffles.

That was a mistake. Sumo came bounding into the kitchen, all clicking claws and slobber. He was already piqued by the sound of Cole’s running, and now the waffle box  _ clearly _ meant treats. Hank grunted with the force of the collision, fumbling the Eggo box. From the sink, Cole laughed.

“Okay, okay, jeez. You’ll get one too, Sumo.”

Four frozen waffles were dropped into the toaster. Cole grabbed milk from the fridge, then dragged his stool from the sink so he could reach the cups and mugs. He returned to the table with Hank’s Fuck Mondays cup, and proceeded to pour himself a generous mug of milk. God, Hank loved that kid.

The coffee machine finished before the waffles did, so Hank served himself, and borrowed a touch of milk before putting it away. Cole told him he always had to use the #1 Dad mug that he made at camp a month ago, so that’s what he used. It was decorated with an indication of Sumo, complete with lolling tongue and slobber on one side, a simplified rendering of his police badge - blue for the leather, yellow for the polished metal shield itself on the other, and in Cole’s handwriting,  _ #1 DAD _ , of course. He’d even painted a smiley face on the inside that he got to see when he finished every cup. The bottom said COLE, probably so none of the other kids’ creations got mixed up. He recognized one of the counselors’ immaculate writing.

Hank stirred in the milk, propped against the corner of the kitchen counter, just watching Cole flick through the digital mag. “You want butter, syrup and bananas?” He was already reaching for the fruit bowl. The bananas were threatening to brown early, and Hank wasn’t about to waste them. Cole gave him a distracted “Yeah,” from the magazine, which was good enough. 

He traded the milk for butter and real maple syrup at the fridge. “Man, Cole, we’re almost outta syrup.” They’d brought back  _ jugs _ of maple syrup and maple sugar from their Canada trip, and while Hank tried to make real waffles and pancakes for ‘em, they mostly just…. Wasted it on Eggo waffles. Made ‘em taste better.

The toaster popped, and Hank brought Cole two of the waffles, complete with melty butter, one sliced banana, and an excessive amount of syrup. He gave him a fork and a knife, and the extra waffle for Sumo, who was waiting by Cole’s other side with feigned patience. Cole was halfway to digging into his waffles when he realized that Sumo was staring at him and wiggling. He stopped with his fork and knife hovering comically in the air.

“Aw Sumo-” He put the utensils down and picked up Sumo’s waffle, only to drop it immediately, “Hot!”

Hank couldn’t even admonish him for it - he’d literally just done the same thing, and was nursing his fingertips in his mouth. Cole mimicked him, but was laughing about it. “Sumo, up!”

Sumo got to his paws with a low boof.

“Sumo, back!”

He backed up two paces, tail wagging slowly. He barked a little louder.

“Wait.” Cole picked up the waffle again.

“Catch!” And threw it.

Sumo lunged, snapped at it, and ended up getting hit in the snout for his trouble, mouth closing a fraction too soon. The waffle bounced to the floor, but even that did not ensure its safety from the saint bernard. 

“Well, an attempt was made,” Cole said, far too amused.

“I’d say that’s a gold star for effort, huh?”

Cole picked up his fork and knife, resuming his dramatic pose above the syrupy waffles. “And now I can eat!” He stabbed the poor Eggo with the fork, pinning two whole slices of banana to it, before hacking it apart from the mass with gusto. It was a huge bite. Hank didn’t bother correcting him. It was Sunday morning, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at [adiblin](https://adiblin.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr! I fucking love talking.


End file.
